


Unplayed Piano (A timestamp for The Doors of Time)

by felisblanco



Series: The Doors of Time [1]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-23
Updated: 2009-07-23
Packaged: 2017-10-22 11:09:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/237406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felisblanco/pseuds/felisblanco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A timestamp for <a href="http://felisblanco.livejournal.com/856417.html">The Doors of Time</a> set right after Part 1.<br/><i>“You don’t know me,” he says. “I’m not like everyone else. I’m… I’m weird.”</i></p><p>
  <i>For the first time since he got there she looks at him like he’s a real person. Like she’s actually sad he has to be there. “You’re not weird, Jensen. This, it’s not your fault. But we’re going to help you get better, ok? That’s why you’re here.”</i>
  <br/>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unplayed Piano (A timestamp for The Doors of Time)

**Author's Note:**

> I promised that if I wrote and posted this I would warn accordingly. So...yeah. This begins where Part 1 left off, following Jensen to the end of that same day. And it's depressing to say the least. The music at the end is so beautiful it might make you cry. And if you've read Doors you know what is to come so... High emotional warning but hopefully it's not overdramatic emoporn, I tried to stay away from that but seeing as it's a very emotional event I might not have succeeded.  
> Beta'd by the lovely [](http://winchesterxgirl.livejournal.com/profile)[**winchesterxgirl**](http://winchesterxgirl.livejournal.com/) but I've made changes since so all blames of error lie with me. Title taken from [the song](http://www.sendspace.com/file/ojfzw2) by Damien Rice. Very fitting lyrics to be found [here](http://www.sing365.com/music/lyric.nsf/Unplayed-Piano-lyrics-Damien-Rice/EEB6CD58518C72934825703C00096DA8).

Mac is yelling. She’s yelling and crying and Jensen wishes she’d just stop.

“You can’t do this,” she’s saying. “Why are you doing this? He’s not some goddamn psycho!”

“Mac,” their mother snaps but Mac won’t even look at her. She’s glaring at their father’s reflection in the rearview mirror, tears streaming down her face.

“Dad, if you do this I will never _ever_ forgive you. Do you hear me? _Never!_ And _you_!” she sobs, turning to Jensen, “How can you just sit there and let them do this to you? Say something! _Do_ something! Stop being their goddamn puppet!”

Jensen doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t do anything. He doesn’t listen to Mac. He doesn’t look at his mother’s stiff shoulders. He doesn’t meet his father’s haunted eyes. He doesn’t think of Jared.

Jared’s confused face the last time Jensen saw him. The tears in Jared’s voice as they talked on the phone and the panic that rose when he realized Jensen was saying goodbye. His quiet sobs as Jensen played for him the very last time.

No, Jensen doesn’t think of Jared. He doesn’t.

He closes his eyes instead, listening. The soft weeping of the strings is still echoing in his head. It followed him down the stairs and into the car, like a stubborn umbilical cord attached to the world he’s leaving. Attached to Jared’s heart.

His stomach clenches and he pushes and pushes until the music all but disappears into the deepest corner of his mind where it’s barely audible. He tries to find a quiet melody instead, a happy one even, but no matter what he tries the piano won’t play. It stays silent back home in his room, silent in his head, silent in his heart. Finally even the strings fade away, like voices stolen by the wind, and then all he hears is silence. It feels like all the music is just gone from the world. He starts to panic, thinking maybe, maybe… But he hasn’t eaten anything, hasn’t even had a glass of water so it can’t be. She couldn’t have without him noticing, could she?

“Jenny!” Mac yells, shaking him. “Come on!” She sobs and he thinks maybe he should put his arm around her, should pull her to his chest one last time. He doesn’t. He doesn’t do anything.

She slaps his face and he doesn’t even flinch, just lets his head roll to rest against the cool glass window. He is so tired.

“Jesus, did you drug him? Mom, did you _drug_ him!?!”

“Mac, be quiet. It’s not like that. Jensen is going because he wants to.”

Jensen’s stomach lurches but he doesn’t argue. He doesn’t say anything. There are so many emotions trapped in the small confinement of the car, all of them choking him. He wants to scream, wants to break all the windows just to get some air in. He doesn’t. He doesn’t do anything.

The car stops and Mac cries as their dad gently pries her hands loose from where they’re fisting Jensen’s t-shirt, and pulls her out of the car. Her friend Myra’s mom is saying that of course she can stay there for a few days. Of course and lets hope Jensen can get the help he needs. “Mackenzie, honey, calm down. Your parents are doing what is best for him.” Mac cries and shouts his name as the car pulls away but he doesn’t open his eyes. He doesn’t look back. He doesn’t do anything. The t-shirt stays twisted on his chest, the ghosts of her fists still clutching the thin fabric.

They drive for what seems like an eternity. The air is thick in the car, thick and choking him with silence. He wants to ask his dad to turn on the radio, to find him some music, any music, to listen to because not hearing anything is making everything so, so much harder. ‘I think my music is gone,’ he thinks. ‘Dad, I think my music is gone. I don’t think I can do this if I don’t have my music.’ His dad stays silent and Jensen doesn’t say anything.

They finally stop at a gas station for snacks and fuel. His mother goes to the bathroom. His dad hesitates briefly then goes inside to pay, leaving the car unlocked with the window rolled down. Jensen can smell rain and gas and freedom. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t do anything.

His dad comes back before his mom does. He stops as he reaches the car and then just stands there in the rain, breathing. Jensen can hear his heart, beating, beating, beating. Too fast. ‘Killing him, I’m killing him,’ Jensen thinks. His dad gets back in behind the wheel. He rolls up the window. He sighs and it sounds like he’s dying anyway.

His mother comes back with a bag of chips and some soda. She wants Jensen to eat, to talk, to open his eyes. She wants him to understand she loves him. That she only wants the best for him. Most of all she wants him to forgive her but she doesn’t say that. He should say that he does, that it’s okay. That he does understand.

He doesn’t do anything.

The next time the car stops the sky is dark blue and the birds are silent. Jensen opens his eyes, He has no idea where they are. There’s a house and a garden and his dad looks a hundred years old. His skin is grey and his eyes are red and it’s all Jensen’s fault.

“It’s going to be alright,” his dad says. His voice is hoarse and his hand shakes when he lays it on Jensen’s shoulder. “It’s just for a little while.” The lie is twisted around his neck, like a black rope strangling him.

“Yeah, dad,” Jensen says, in a voice that doesn’t sound like his own. “I know.” He looks up at the house, grayish white in the twilight. He really has to pee.

They walk inside, his dad carrying the small duffle bag that holds everything he owns now. Clothes and books. Toiletries. No music. No piano. No Jared. For a brief moment panic wells up in Jensen’s chest but he pushes it down. Not yet, he tells himself. Not while they’re still here. Not while his dad is still here.

He sits silent on a chair between his parents, listening to his mother’s shaky words and his dad’s quiet murmurs. The woman on the other side of the desk has blond hair and wire-rimmed glasses. She’s a doctor. A psychiatrist. She introduced herself, told him her name, but he wasn’t listening and now he can’t remember. He looks around and reads Dr. Samantha Harris on a diploma on the wall. That must be her.

They’re talking about hallucinations. Delusions. Obsessive compulsions and outbursts of violence. Social inaptness. Severe depression. Jensen frowns but doesn’t say anything. He knows they have to call it something and ‘weird’ probably isn’t listed as a medical term.

His head is still silent. He starts humming under his breath but his mother gives him a sharp look so he stops. Instead he counts the collection of pens on the desk. Four blue ones, two black and one red. And a yellow highlighter. He lines them up in his mind, like piano keys, and taps them with imaginary fingers. The keys refuse to play and his head remains silent. He swallows.

Outside the sky is growing darker and darker. It’s still raining, heavy drops of sorrow. He thinks maybe he should do something about that but he doesn’t. He doesn’t do anything.

“Jensen,” his mother says and he looks over at her. Her face is flushed and she’s smiling at him, looking like she’s terrified he’ll go back on his word. That he’ll refuse to stay. It’s so strange. He looks at her and he can see her sadness, her fear, and he just doesn’t get it. How can she feel that way about him? Doesn’t she know him at all?

“Jensen,” his mother repeats and he looks at her again. Or still. He’s not sure. “Do you want to say something?”

“I need to go to the bathroom,” he says. His voice is slightly hoarse and he clears his throat. “Please.”

They’re all watching him, like having to pee is just another thing that’s wrong with him.

“Of course,” the woman, Dr Harris, says. She smiles at him. She doesn’t look frightened like his mom. More curious, like he’s a puzzle she can’t wait to solve. “It’s the door across the hall.”

He nods and stands up. His bladder aches. He can feel them watching him as he exits the room but he doesn’t look back, just closes the door softly behind him.

The hall is empty. He glances down it, the way they came. The door wasn’t locked. The car is waiting outside. He could leave.

He doesn’t. He finds the toilet, pees, washes his hands and returns to the doctor’s office. Everyone goes quiet when he opens the door. His mother looks relieved, like she expected him to run. His dad looks pained, like he was hoping he would.

“So Jensen, how do you feel about all this?” the doctor says when he’s seated. He looks up at her.

“About what?” he says, confused.

“Coming to stay here for a while.” She smiles at him encouragingly and he wonders what she wants to hear.

“Okay, I guess.” He hesitates then asks, “Do you have a piano?”

She frowns slightly. “I’m sorry, no. But…”

“He’s obsessed,” his mother cuts in. “With playing.”

He turns to look at her but she won’t meet his eyes.

“He plays for hours on end,” she says. “We can’t snap him out of it. He won’t eat or sleep, just plays until he passes out. It’s one of his worst compulsions. I really think it would be best if he was kept away from playing altogether.”

Jensen sucks in his breath. For the first time since he agreed to do this he wants to say no. He wants to scream and yell and beg them to take him back. To take him home. He can’t do this. He doesn’t want to do this. He wants to go home. Please, mom, let me go home. Dad…

He looks up and meets his dad’s teary eyes. He looks devastated. He looks like he’s on the brink of standing up and walking out, taking Jensen with him. He looks like he’d rather die than take Jensen’s music away from him. A spider is weaving a web around his heart, wrapping it up like a fly as it struggles to beat.

Jensen’s own heart is breaking but his face remains blank, his eyes dry and empty. He drops his head and mumbles, “Yeah, okay.”

Of course. He does things with his music that no one should see or feel. It’s not like he can tell everyone to close their eyes. Not like he can ask for an isolated room away from everyone else, just to play in. It has to be this way. Of course. He doesn’t know why it never occurred to him. Why he hadn’t realized that he wouldn’t be able to… Wouldn’t…

Dr Harris nods and writes something in her notes. Jensen stares down at his hands. His fingertips ache, missing the smooth ivory, the dry ebony, the vibration of the tangents hitting the strings. He tries tapping his fingers against his knees but there’s still nothing. No music. He lays his palms flat on his thighs and waits.

They’re talking again but Jensen has long stopped listening. Even if he’s supposedly doing this voluntarily, asking for this because _he_ wants to get help, his involvement doesn’t seem to be needed. The only thing they actually do need him for is signing his name on the forms. He does, hand slightly shaking, without bothering to read them.

He says goodbye to his parents in the doctor’s office, it’s easier that way she explains. Less upsetting for the other residents. His mom kisses him and hugs him so tight he can’t breathe. He hugs her back because it’s the first time in a year that she’s touched him like that and he thinks it might be the last time she ever will. He can feel her shiver, can hear the rapid beating of her heart. She smells like wet sand on the shore, like relief and guilt and his mommy. He steps back as soon as she lets him go.

His dad pulls him in and presses him to his chest, one large hand cupping the back of his head. Jensen closes his eyes, his father’s soft sweater caressing his cheek. He can feel his dad’s heart stutter under his ear, like it’s stumbling over its own grief.

Jensen’s resolve falters. He wraps his arms around his dad’s waist, tight, tight. Clinging in desperation and fear. If he refuses to let go they can’t leave, not without him. ‘Don’t leave, don’t leave, please don’t leave me here.’ His dad shakes, puffs of air blowing through Jensen’s hair and with a bang Jensen realizes his father is about to cry.

Jensen lets him abruptly go. “I’ll be okay,” he says as he steps back and smiles.

His dad’s eyes are wet like pebbles in the rain. “We’ll visit,” he says, choking on the words. “We’ll visit you all the time.”

“Okay.” He nods and smiles again. “Give my best to Mac. I’m sorry I didn’t say goodbye to her.”

“I…”

His dad’s face crumbles and Jensen hastily lays a palm on his cheek. ‘Listen to me,’ he thinks, gazing into his father’s eyes. ‘It’s not your fault. I don’t blame you. I love you. I know you love me. It’s okay. I’m going to be okay.’

They gaze at each other in silence and then his dad nods and Jensen reluctantly lets him go. He stands silent as the doctor shakes his parents’ hands and tells them she’ll see them next week. Then they’re gone. Dr Harris turns to him and gives him a sympathetic smile.

“Jensen. Let’s get you settled in, shall we?”

He nods and reaches for the duffel bag but she shakes her head, stopping him. “We’ll take care of that,” she says. He shrugs. There’s nothing in it anyway that he actually needs.

She walks down the hall, in the opposite direction of the door his parents disappeared through. Jensen follows her without a backward glance. He can hear voices behind the walls, mumbling and muttering. A girl comes out of a room, looking confused and lost. She turns around and walks right through him, her sadness washing over him like a lukewarm shower for a short moment before she’s through and gone.

A shape. A humanoid shape that’s lost its owner. The possibility rattles him, even more when he realizes he hasn’t seen Minna since he left home. What if he accidentally left her behind and now she’s wandering around the empty house, looking for him? It never even occurred to him that she could exist on her own.

“Here we are,” Dr Harris says cheerfully, just as he’s about to tumble into panic.

The room is painted a pale yellow color. There are two beds, each with a small bedside table. There’s a closet with shelves, half of which belong to him, and a table with a chair. He’s not sure how they are supposed to share that, he and whoever else lives here. On the wall over his bed is a painting of the sun setting over the ocean. It’s ugly and depressing. Over the other bed is a cross. He likes that even less.

A nurse comes in and hands him some clothes. Not his. A white t-shirt and light-blue pants. She waits while he undresses and puts them on. They feel weird. Too thin and not his. The socks itch. There are grey sweatpants and a grey hoodie that she puts on one of the shelves in his half of the closet.

“For now,” she says and he doesn’t know what that means. If he’ll get other clothes later, maybe even his own, or if he’ll just get more of the same.

Dr Harris waits until he’s dressed before talking again. She always says his name and then waits until she’s sure he’s looking at her. Like he can’t hear her if they don’t hold eye contact. It’s irritating.

“Jensen,” she says and waits. He sighs and meets her eyes. “You’ll be sharing a room with Mason. He’s away at the moment but he’ll be back before the weekend.” She doesn’t say where he is and Jensen doesn’t ask. “That gives you a couple of days to settle in.”

He’s not sure what he’s supposed to settle in to. Apart from the picture and the cross the room isn’t that much different from his own at home. The windows only have regular glass though and the closet has no lock. Neither do the drawers on the bedside tables. He wonders how that’s supposed to work.

“Well, Jensen, it’s pretty late. We want you to sleep well your first night so you should take these.”

He turns around and the nurse is holding out a small glass with two pills.

Oh. So that‘s how.

“I can’t,” he says, struggling to keep his voice calm. “Drugs give me nightmares.”

She smiles at him indulgently. “Not these. We wouldn’t give them to you if they did. Trust me.”

He shakes his head. “No, trust _me_. They do. They all do. They mess with my head.”

She takes a step forward and he backs away until he hits the small bedside table, bumping it into the wall. The cross trembles on the wall before settling down, slightly skewed. It would be funny if he wasn’t so terrified.

Dr Harris sighs. “Jensen, you are here because you want to get better, right? Well, you can’t get better if you don’t trust me to know what’s best for you.”

“You don’t know me,” he says. “I’m not like everyone else. I’m… I’m weird.”

For the first time since he got there she looks at him like he’s a real person. Like she’s actually sad he has to be there. “You’re not weird, Jensen. This, it’s not your fault. But we’re going to help you get better, ok? That’s why you’re here.”

He wants to say he’s there so his _dad_ can get better. That _he’s_ the one crumbling underneath the burden of having Jensen for a son. He wants to tell her about the colors that will fade, about the voices that will disappear and the music, the only thing actually keeping him sane, that won’t be able to play. But he’s so tired and he’s only a breath away from crying and he knows that as soon as he falls asleep he won’t be able to hold back anymore. And he can’t let that happen. Not yet.

He gives up.

“Okay,” he says. “Just for tonight. Okay.”

She smiles patiently but doesn’t correct him. He takes the pills and the glass of water, feeling the slim shapes slip down his throat as he swallows. He gets into bed and stares up at the ceiling. They bid him goodnight as they leave. He doesn’t say it back.

As soon as the door closes Minna materializes from a darkened corner. She moves across the room on silent paws, looking around with disdain before gracefully jumping up on the bed. He pulls her in, burying his face in her soft fur, his breath hitching in relief. She purrs and nudges his cheek with her wet nose. ‘I’m still here,’ she comforts as he strokes her and scratches her behind the ears. Finally she settles down on his chest, paws kneading his thin t-shirt. She is warm and solid, her claws are sharp as they catch his skin. She’s as real as the wall behind him. She’s real. She is.

It’s all real. The voices, the colors, the shapes, the fairies. Jared. It’s all real. No matter what she says, no matter what will happen it’s all real. It is. The music. The music is real. He doesn’t have his piano, he doesn’t have his sheet music or CDs but it’s okay. He has plenty of music in his head. He just has to turn it on again. Somehow.

It’s never gone away like this before. Maybe it got scared. Maybe it’s angry at him for not fighting for it. Maybe…

  
[Gabriel Fauré: Requiem - Pie Jesu](http://www.besserwiss.com/felisblanco/Requiem%20Op.48%20-%20Pie%20Jesu.mp3)

Suddenly he hears a single note, low but insistent. He’s so relieved to be hearing anything at all that it takes him a moment to realize it’s not his piano. It’s a church organ. The note rises, higher and higher, and then he hears it. A voice so sweet his heart almost stops beating.

It’s a boy soprano, softly weeping in Jensen’s head, ‘ _Pie Jesu domine, dona eis requiem…_ ’

He lies still, listening while tears leak from the corners of his eyes and down into his ears. Raindrops fall from the leaves of the tree outside his window and to the ground. Everything smells of spring. He can hear fairy children outside, playing in the rain. They laugh and dance and pull at each other’s wings. The world is beautiful and he’s not in it.

The boy’s voice is weakening. ‘ _…sempiternam requiem, sempiternam requiem…_ ’ he whispers, the music getting quieter and quieter as the drug seeps into Jensen’s veins. He watches the colors fade from the room, yellow walls turning sickly grey. The bitter taste of grief disappears from his tongue, the scents of his father’s guilt and his mother’s relief dissolve into thin air. And as the last note of the song fades away Minna lifts her head and gazes into his eyes and then she too starts to fade until she’s going, going, gone.

Jensen closes his eyes. He thinks of Jared. Jared, Jared, Jared... Jared’s eyes, Jared’s smile, Jared’s laughter. Jared’s small hand in his. Jared’s adult lips kissing him. Jared whispering Jensen’s name, breath warm in his ear. Jared playing the piano. Jared, Jared, Jared…He makes a list of every little detail, memorizing it then playing it over and over in his head to make it stick. Everything else is disappearing but he won’t let Jared go. Not him. He’s holding on and he won’t ever, ever…

  
In a hotel room on the other side of town Alan Ackles stands by the window, watching the rain fall. When it slows down and finally stops he touches the cold glass lightly with his fingertips, holding his breath as he waits. The night remains quiet. Alan briefly closes his eyes. His breath hitches. He slowly turns around and goes to lay down on the bed. His wife is breathing low and irregularly by his side, her shoulders tense. Alan stares up at the ceiling. His chest feels too tight and it hurts to breathe.

This was a mistake. There is nothing right in what they’re doing. Nothing. Tomorrow he will sit Donna down and tell her they’re going back for Jensen because there’s no way the boy will survive without his music. There has to be another way. They’ll figure something out. They will.

fin

**Author's Note:**

> Requiem by Gabriel Fauré is one of my absolute favourite classical masterpieces. Camille Saint-Saëns said of this particular part of it, "just as Mozart's is the only Ave verum corpus, this is the only Pie Jesu" and I think there is no argument there. It is one of the most beautiful pieces ever composed and sung by a boy soprano, like in the one embedded above, it is just amazing. The whole Requiem is remarkable and in many ways different from others. In fact, Fauré was criticized for making it too joyful by putting the main emphasis on the hope for a peaceful and joyous afterlife instead of the fear of dying and the impending purgatory. "But it is thus that I see death: as a happy deliverance, an aspiration towards happiness above, rather than as a painful experience." I have to say I prefer his view to the other. lol
> 
> Anyway, in case you want it: [Fauré - Requiem and other coral music.zip](http://www.sendspace.com/file/9x8fvo)]  
> 


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